The calendar, all “ex’s”, no “oh’s”.
A one man game of tic-tac-toe.
A fast flickered feeling seized his body. Nothing named.
There was a word for what washed over him, but not in this language.
The surreal became reality with each audible tick of time.
Fear of being judged. Regret for waiting . Tears for a future never seen.
At least he left words. At least a hidden will. At the very least, no soul would suffer the truth.
His heart fastening with anticipation. Slowing with acceptance.
Fifty-five, Fifty-four, fifty-three, the time had come. Eyes closed, fade to black.
Written for TheM3Blog and FlashInThePan associated to Finding The Path